The A-Z Club
by Phantasmagoric Kaleidoscope
Summary: Alfred Jones is a good student, and is placed in detention for the first time. It's here he meets detention-veteran and all around bad-egg Arthur Kirkland, and can't stop himself from being attracted to him. UKUS
1. Chapter 1

The A-Z Club

Summary: It's Alfred's first time in detention. It's certainly not the same for Arthur. High School AU

Warnings: swearing/smoking/mischief

* * *

Alfred F Jones did not get detention. He was immune to it, he did not get it. He just didn't. Of course, this was the exception. He'd been caught-out. And now he was stuck in a library after school for two and a half hours. His teachers were disappointed, his parents were mad. Worst of all he was missing practice and letting down the team. When he got to the library, it was abandoned, and looked like exactly the type of place that would house spooky ghosts. He sat down and put his backpack on the chair next to him, staying vigilant. Fortunately, he wasn't alone for long.

The teacher who was watching him during detention, vice-Prinicpal himself who a lot of the guys liked to liken to Darth Vader, but who Alfred had never had a problem with, strode in, red-faced and scowling, like this was the last place he wanted to be.

"Jones." He said, "Not the type of person I expect to see here. Your first time?" He checked his watch.

"And last, sir." Alfred said, smiling brightly. It was the smile he reserved for teachers, his parents, and people he met for the first time. The balding vice-principal nodded, and marked Alfred as present and on time on his detention clipboard.

"Good."the Vice-principal looked down at his list, rolling his eyes as he looked at the second and last name on the list. "Where is Kirkland?"

"Who, sir?" Alfred said.

"No. I don't expect you two to run in the same social circles." Phillips said. "I'll have to mark him as absent."

"Who's absent?" A voice that Alfred didn't recognise said, in a loud stage whisper. Phillips turned to his side.

"Sit down, Kirkland." Phillips said.

Kirkland, a skinny blond in a long dark green coat strode past Phillips and sat at the table behind Alfred, leaning back in the chair and slamming his boot-covered feet onto the desk.

"You're late, Kirkland."

"Not really." he said, checking the clock on the wall behind him. "You were just early."

Phillips inhaled sharply, but gritted his teeth. He wasn't in the mood.

"I will be in my office." Phillips pointed across the hall. "You will not talk. Or move. You will sit in silence. This is a punishment, though it doesn't seem to work for you, Kirkland, does it? This is my time you're wasting. I'll come get you both when it's time to go."

And with that he left. As soon as he'd entered his office, Kirkland moved, putting his feet back on the floor. Alfred was staring at him, and he didn't realise until Kirkland's huge eyebrows furrowed together in a glare and he snapped

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Alfred."

"That's not what I asked." Kirkland said. He was twisting the button of his jacket around in circles, not looking at Alfred at all.

"What's your name?" Alfred asked.

"What's it to you?" He said, "Just shut up and...do whatever it is you do."

"I can't believe I'm missing practice for this." Alfred said. "Football practice. I mean the real kind of football not soccer."

"Excuse you?" Kirkland said, sitting forward now and shrugging his heavy coat off. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt over a longer sleeved white t-shirt, the black with a band or a brand that Alfred didn't know scrawled across it. Alfred smiled his patented smile.

"You're British, right? The Queen and scones and soccer. Britain." Alfred said. Kirkland rolled his eyes - green - Alfred noticed, bright green, not muted or brownish-hazel, but green. Alfred looked away, grinning. Kirkland leant back in his seat, deciding, apparently, not to answer, and started swinging back on his chair. Alfred looked at the t-shirt again, and he was looking at the t-shirt, and definitely not at Kirkland's shoulders and arms, which weren't as skinny as he first thought, but actually lightly muscled. Nothing to match his own, of course, Alfred smirked.

"What the fuck are you smirking at?"

"Nothing." Alfred said. "So, like I said, I'm missing important practice to be here. What are you missing?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I cleared my busy social schedule to be here. Phillips loves my company." Kirkland said, digging into his pockets as he spoke. When he stopped he craned his neck to peer into Phillips's office, where the vice principal was typing away either oblivious or uncaring.

He took out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth.

"You can't smoke in here."

"Do you want one?" Kirkland mumbled, as he lit it.

"You can't - he'll give you another detention." Alfred said.

Kirkland snorted, "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

"Am I supposed to?"

Kirkland laughed and continued to smoke. Alfred tried to grab the cigarette out of his mouth, but missed and nearly clattered out of his chair. He stood up.

"Just put it out." Alfred said. "You could get us both in trouble."

"So what?"

"So I care!"

"I don't." Kirkland stood up, too, flicking ash on top of a pile of books.

Alfred made a lunge for him, grabbing onto his sleeve. Kirkland pulled away violently.

"Don't fucking touch me!" He shouted. Alfred stepped back.

"Just please put it out -"

Kirkland's eyes narrowed, then he smiled, his angry breathing slowed.

"All you had to do is say please." And he put the cigarette out on the desk.

"Thank you." Alfred said.

"What is all this noise? Why are you out of your seats? Kirkland! Have you been smoking?"

"No, Sir, I haven't." Kirkland said. Phillips sniffed.

"Has he?" He demanded, looking at Alfred.

"I don't know, sir." Alfred said. "Maybe he did before he came."

Phillips glared at them both, looking from Kirkland to Alfred and back to Kirkland.

"Sit back down. Both of you." He said. He turned to go, but then turned to face Alfred, "If I found out you're lying - that's another detention! And you don't want to fall into the habit of it, or you'll end up a waster like him."

He turned on his heel and left.

Arthur straightened out his t-shirts and sat back down.

"Wow." Alfred said. "Is he allowed to talk to students like that?" He laughed nervously and sat, pulling his chair closer to Kirkland's desk.

"He's allowed to talk to me like that. They all do."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. He seems to like you, anyway. Do you suck his cock?"

"What?!"

"You heard me."

"No." Alfred coughed. "I don't. Don't be so disgusting. He likes football."

"I bet you get straight As, too? All As, football, never late. You're here because you cut a class for the first time ever or forgot to hand in an assignment." Kirkland said, leaning back once again, almost lounging.

"Shut up." Alfred said. "You don't know anything."

"Don't I? I know you're a pathetic teacher's pet."

Alfred didn't like being called names, especially by people who didn't know anything about him. He tried biting his tongue, but -

"I lied. I do know who you are. Everyone knows what a loser you are, Arthur Kirkland." Alfred paused, half disbelieving that his mouth was saying these things. "And I'd rather be a A-student-teacher's-pet than a...than a z-student like you! And a Waster, like Phillips said." Alfred said, nearly spitting his words. Arthur Kirkland's nostrils flared in anger. He slammed his hands down on the table and stood up. He pulled on his coat and swung his backpack over his shoulder. And then he jumped on the table, kicking all the books from the neighbouring desks before jumping over and doing the same to the next one. Alfred watched, jaw slightly ajar, from his seat as Phillips came running back in.

"Kirkland! Get off the table!"

Arthur jumped off the table and run past Phillips, towards the fire exits.

Phillips started screaming at Arthur Kirkland, running after him bright red in the face.

"Jones! Go home early!" He yelled, as Kirkland set off the fire alarms and made his back exit escape. Alfred gathered his things, watching Vice Principal Phillips chase Kirkland across the school fields. He couldn't help but smile a bit.

He left detention, thinking about whether he should go home now or join practice, even if he wasn't there for long. He decided it wasn't worth going.

Alfred went through the evening, in a state of semi-regret. He didn't want to say those things to Arthur Kirkland, but he had started it, and they were true.

Alfred went to bed that night, giving unwilling thoughts to Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

A/N:

Really not sure whether or not this going to be continued, I'm pretty terrible at writing lately. If it is continued it's probably going to be mostly UK/US with some other b-pairings.

This is kind of based off the Breakfast Club. I love that movie. I know most people prefer Alfred to be the cockier, more dominant one, but as I was re-watching it, Alfred as a cross between Molly Ringwald and the jock-guy in the movie just made sense. Arthur is based off Judd Nelson's character, John Bender.


	2. Chapter 2

**The A-Z Club**

**Chapter Two**

**(Warnings: swearing, mentions of physical/verbal abuse)**

* * *

Alfred was never late, and today was no exception. He came in with his brother, Matthew, who disappeared and wandered off to find his friends. After a quick stop-off at his locker, Alfred did the same. He wanted to know what he'd missed at practice yesterday before classes started. They'd entered his line of (admittedly not perfect) sight when the pink face of Vice Principal Phillips obstructed his path.

"Jones." He said, curtly. "Step into my office."

Alfred did what he said, biting his tongue so he didn't vocally protest. Why couldn't teachers waste their own time? Alfred sat down and so did Phillips, an awkward silence settled, and Alfred wondered if Phillips was going to make him sit in there in silence just to annoy him.

"I know it's not your fault that you missed most of your detention yesterday." Phillips said. Alfred sensed the word 'but' before he heard it. "But you still have to serve your detention."

"But - "

"No, Mr Jones, you broke the school rules and you will be punished for it. One hour, your parents will be informed. After school. And you can thank Mr Kirkland for that." Phillips said. Alfred stared at him. Phillips waved his hand. "Leave."

Alfred nodded, but only got halfway to the door.

"I don't think it's fair." He said, unable to hold it in. It wasn't.

"And I don't recall asking your opinion on the matter." Phillips said.

Alfred breathed in deeply and breathed out.

It was the type of day that flew by, and for once, Alfred wasn't happy about it. Usually, he couldn't wait for school to end. He didn't hate school, far from it. His teachers loved him, his peers loved him, he was smart and good-looking and popular, but he still preferred after-school. On regular days. But detention days? No. He wanted trig to drag for hours and hours. But lunch came before he knew it. He wasn't even looking forward to his Thursday-Burger, because it meant that the day was almost over and he'd be stuck in the godforsaken library.

He sat down miserably at a table full of his fellow football players, and those of an equal social standing. He could see Arthur Kirkland in the corner of the cafeteria, sat at a table, nodding and laughing but not eating. He was talking to Francis, who had a reputation that almost superseded Arthur's, but more for his sexual prowess than his temper tantrums and criminal behaviour. He and Kirkland got into violent fights often, but they were almost always hanging around each other the next day anyway.

"Who are you staring at?" The brunette girl, who was pretty but not Alfred's type, asked. She was a cheerleader named Britney or Courtney or something obvious like that.

"Kirkland." Alfred said, before he could come up with a lie.

"Uh. Why?" Britney-Courtney asked, eyebrows raised.

"He was at my detention yesterday. Thanks to him I've gotta go again today."

"He's like, bad news. Not even in like a cool way. It's scary. He shouldn't be allowed to go here. He's into drugs and hangs around that dodgy club all the time." Britney-Courtney says. The others started going in the conversation, discussing how Arthur Kirkland steals cars/sells drugs/kicks puppies. Alfred wasn't sure which, if any were true, he just knew that he was pissed off. So he got up, ignoring Courtney-Britney's question, and walked across the cafeteria. He was angry.

"Thanks a lot, Kirkland." He said. Kirkland's table all looked at him. All except Arthur, who continued muttering in Francis's ear. Francis laughed at something.

"Kirkland." Alfred said. Arthur gave him the same look someone might give an annoying toddler they were trying to put up with.

"Oh, what?"

"Thanks a lot."

"For what?"

"Thanks to you, I have another detention."

"You're welcome. I look forward to seeing you." Arthur said. His friends, all dressed in varying shades of black and all pierced at least once, laughed. Alfred stared at the several piercings in Arthur's ear, so it was like looking him in the eyes, but he didn't actually have to.

"You can leave now." Arthur said, and Alfred found himself doing so without actually meaning to. That hadn't gone how he wanted it to. He was going to say something witty and clever and embarrass or at least annoy Arthur in front of his friends.

He spent the rest of the school day livid.

Matthew walked with him to detention.

"Do you think you'll be done then?" Matthew said, looking at his shoes.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna ignore Kirkland. Everyone is right. He's trouble."

"He's not that bad." Matthew said, quietly.

"How would you know?" Alfred said. His twin brother sighed.

"He's in a couple of my classes."

"Kirkland's a senior."

"He isn't known for his perfect grades or attendance, Alfred." Matthew said.

"He's got held back?"

"No. He's just going to a couple of extra classes. Apparently."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Improve his grades?"

Alfred pulled a face. "I bet he's being forced to. He wouldn't do it by choice."

"Who knows." Matthew muttered. They arrived outside the library.

"I'll see you at home, Mattie." Alfred said. Matthew waved goodbye. Alfred counted to ten before he went in, calming himself down before he could get stressed out.

Kirkland was already sat in the library when Alfred got there, sat on the desk instead of a seat. Phillips was hot on Alfred's heels, and frowned at Kirkland but didn't tell him to get off. He had to pick his battles. Alfred sat at the desk in front of Kirkland, once again putting his backpack next him and making himself comfortable.

"Alright, one hour for both of you. Keep quiet, no funny business, Kirkland."

"Me? I wouldn't dream of funny business." Kirkland said, doing his best to look innocent. Alfred had to admit - with those wide green eyes, he almost did the job well. Alfred shook thoughts from his head and turned his back on Kirkland.

"Keep it closed, Kirkland." Phillips said. He turned and left. Alfred didn't understand why he didn't just stay in the room with them. He could do grading from here, and maybe then Alfred could finish serving his sentence and go back to being a free man.

"He looks like a cross between a pig and a hawk." Kirkland said, staring at Phillips as he walked away. He'd said it quietly, and Alfred wasn't sure if he'd been talking to him or himself, but he looked, and couldn't help but agree.

"A pawk." Alfred said. "Or a hig."

"Pawk is better." Kirkland said, smirking. Alfred turned around to look at him. He hadn't looked properly in the cafeteria that morning, and so he hadn't noticed his face. A shiny, dark bruise sat proudly on Arthur Kirkland's white cheekbone.

"Did Phillips do that to you?" Alfred said. "When he was chasing you?"

"No. As if that asshole could catch up with me." Arthur said. He sat forwards, so close that Alfred could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. "It was a present." He said. Alfred heard him swallow, a smirk on his lips. "From step-daddy dearest. For doing so well at school."

Alfred's mouth opened. "Are you joking?"

Arthur's absurdly thick eyebrows knotted together in a frown. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"No." Alfred said quickly. "I just, didn't - I thought you might be."

"Good. Because I'm not a liar." Arthur said, folding his arms.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...why did he do it?"

Arthur's frown deepened. "He doesn't need a reason. He was drunk and my mum told him about what happened. He shouts up the stairs, 'Arthur, get down here!' And I go down, because if I don't he'll come up, and he says, 'What have you done this time?' So I tell him that Phillips was being an arse and Step-daddy, he rounds up on me, my mother watches, and he starts walking closer and closer, and he he's got me pinned against the wall, and he's so close I can smell the booze and sweat and I don't breathe too deeply because I know his stench will knock me out, and when he starts talking he spits all over me." Arthur said, "And he's says 'why can't you just behave for more than two seconds? Why can't you do anything right? You're just like your father, a low-life waste of space, a loser. And he hits me, right here." He points to his bruised cheekbone.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I didn't know."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "No-one does."

"Then why tell me?"

"I don't care any more."

"About what?"

"Them. Or anything. When I was younger, I was scared social services would take me away. Terrified. But I'm eighteen, and just waiting for them to kick me out. Or the school to kick me out. It shouldn't be long." Arthur said. "I don't care about people finding out. So you can tell your stupid jock friends."

"I won't tell them." Alfred said. "Its not my business to. I won't tell anyone."

"How loyal." Arthur said, and he started picking his nails. Alfred turned back to his homework, but he couldn't concentrate.

"What about your mom?"

"What?"

"Doesn't she stick up for you?" Alfred said. He couldn't imagine his own father hitting him, and he couldn't imagine his mom letting it happen.

Arthur snorted. "No. She hates me just as much as he does. She thinks I'm useless, too. She and my stepdad have a kid together, and they're a happy family. She says I'm just a ugly hanger-on and she can't wait to get rid of me."

"Oh." Alfred said. "I am sorry, Arthur."

"Fuck off." Arthur said, standing up so quickly his chair falls to the ground. "Jones, are you really that gullible?"

"What?" Alfred said.

"Of course I was lying." Arthur said.

"But -"

"Jones, why the hell would I tell you any of that if it was true? I got into a fight last night at a club over something so stupid I don't even remember." Arthur said. "You're so stupid it's painful." He swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"I thought -"

"That we were going to make friends? Hold hands and skip across the football field? I was bored, that's all. I'm going. Send Phillips my love, will you?"

"Where are you going?" Alfred said, standing up and following Arthur to the fire exit, which had been locked. Alfred couldn't help but think that was a fire hazard. Arthur shook the door a few times before frowning. "See, just sit down." Alfred said.

Arthur didn't. He went over to the window, which was only open a little and pushed it further out.

"See you, Jones." He said, and jumped out. Alfred watched him run across the field, before walking back over to his desk. He decided he'd wait out the detention. He tried to concentrate on his homework, but he felt too stupid. And gullible. Everyone said Arthur Kirkland was bad news, the type of person to lie about the colour of the sky, but he hadn't listened. He's almost thought that there was more to Arthur than met the eye but he'd just fallen for a stupid sob story. He was a sucker. He wouldn't speak to Kirkland again, or even think of him. He'd go back to running into his social circle, and leave Kirkland to his, like it had been before detention.


	3. Chapter 3

**The A-Z Club**

**Chapter Three**

**Warning: swearing, mentions of smoking and sex.**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland didn't care about what people thought of him. That hadn't always been true. Once upon a time, he cared very, very much, but then he grew up and realised that no matter what, above all else, life was shit and so were people. So he made his way across the field and towards the main streets, not quite running but walking quickly, so to get away from school as fast as he could. He wasn't going to go home. Not yet. Besides, he wasn't in the mood for that today. Sometimes when he didn't feel like going home he'd go to the library, grab a book and find a corner. He'd usually only read a page or two, before he'd fall asleep. At closing time, the elderly librarian would come up to him and shake him awake. She was in her late sixties, now, but she'd been the first new friend he'd made when he moved to America the summer he was twelve. They recommended books to each other and she made him tea, which was Earl Grey and not his favourite but he didn't mind, because it was warm and a nice thought. She let him sleep and didn't let her fellow librarians disturb him or quick him out, which was nice.

He didn't feel like going to the library today, because the bruise on his cheek would open up questions. The weather was too cold to go to his second favourite quiet place, so he'd have to go to his third. It was only half a mile away from the school, so it didn't take long to get there at all. Francis's house was big and white and objectively quite old. He knocked twice.

"Bon jour, mon cher. But what brings you here?" Francis said, leaning against the frame.

"I thought we'd do our homework together and then I'd braid your hair, and you'd paint my nails." Arthur said.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" Francis said. Arthur nodded and smiled in a way that he hoped looked genuine.

"I suppose I'll feed you, if it will save from the horror of eating American fast food." Francis said, sighing dramatically and letting Arthur in. Arthur followed him to the kitchen, taking his coat off and folding it over his arm.

"Why didn't you eat at lunch?"

"I wasn't hungry at lunch." Arthur says. "Besides, canteen food is crap. I'll have a heart attack."

Francis rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

"Are you coming out tonight?" Arthur said.

"Non. And I don't think you should, either." Francis says. "You look exhausted."

"Don't tell me what to do." Arthur said. "I'll just call Gilbert."

"Do you want Gilbert to cook for you, too?"

Arthur pulled a face.

"Whatever, Frog." He said, but he didn't call Gilbert. Francis cooked for him, and Arthur watched closely but he knew he'd never be able to recreate it.

"When was the last time you ate?" Francis said, cutting some kind of oddly shaped vegetable that Arthur couldn't even name.

"Lunch."

"No you didn't."

"Yesterday lunch. I didn't have time for dinner and you know I hate breakfast on principle." Arthur said. He took a sip of the glass of water he'd been given. Francis had initially dared to offer him coffee, which he wouldn't drink.

"You should at least eat lunch everyday, Arthur. If it's the only guaranteed - "

"Francis." Arthur said. "Isn't it bloody enough that I have to swallow my pride and come here and eat French food? That should make you happy." He was half-joking and frowning beneath the smile on his face.

"But cher, this recipe is Italian." Francis said, smiling, and leaving the oven to walk over to Arthur.

"It's gotten worse." Francis said, quietly, even though they were the only ones present in the big house.

Arthur slid of the stool and grabbed his bag and coat.

"I knew this was a bad idea." He said. He turned to leave but Francis grabbed his wrist. "Let me go, Frog."

"Non, you are not going. You are going to sit down and eat the meal I cooked you. And then you're going to have a shower - because, no offence, Arthur, you smell like substances I'd rather not let my mother know you take. And you're going to spend the night. Comprenez vous?" Francis said, his voice was light with an underlying threat. Arthur pulled his wrist roughly out of Francis's grasp, but sat back down.

He fell into silence, staring darkly at his glass of water.

88

"Where is Kirkland?" Phillips demanded, Alfred looked up from his homework.

"He went to the bathroom like five minutes ago." Alfred said. Phillips's nostrils flared and his face went from the pinched pink to a bright, tomato red. "What's wrong sir?"

Philips was taking deep breaths, a dark purple vein was bulging in his forehead.

"Congratulations, Jones. You've earned yourself another detention!" Phillips snarled.

Alfred frowned.

"What? Why?!"

"For not coming to get me as soon as Kirkland left the room!"

"You told me to stay in my seat! I was doing as you said! I didn't realise Kirkland needed a escort to go to the bathroom!" Alfred said.

Phillips's fade darkened still.

"Detention. Tomorrow and Monday. Don't push it, Jones."

"You can't do that!" Alfred objected.

"I can and I have, Jones." Phillips said. "If I had my way you would have gotten a week for what you did in the first place!"

Alfred sighed, and relented. It wasn't worth arguing with Phillips. He'd be good as gold tomorrow, and practically platinum on Monday, to show Phillips he was a good student, and nothing like Arthur Kirkland.

"Ok, sir, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken back." He said. He hoped that his would be enough.

"Just Friday after school." He said. "Forget Monday. You need to go to football practice."

Alfred grinned his million-dollar grin.

"Thanks!" He said, grabbing his back pack and homework and shooting off before Phillips could change his mind.

88

Arthur had eaten and showered and was wearing a pair of Francis's jeans and pale blue cotton shirt. They fitted quite well, maybe slightly looser than they were meant to be, but they looked fine. Francis had washed Arthur's own clothes, and now they were sat watching tv. Well, each thought the other was paying attention to the movie, but neither actually was. Francis was worrying and Arthur was plotting. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to go to school the next day, but staying with Francis meant he'd have to. He didn't foresee Francis letting him leave, and Francis had hidden Arthur's cigarettes and stuff somewhere away from where his mother might find them. If Arthur left in the middle of the night, he'd have time to find them, but he'd have nowhere to spend the night because he no longer had a key to his own house.

"It's a home, not a hotel. You can't come and go as you please. The door locks at ten and opens at seven," his mother had said, taking his key out of his hands when he hadn't exactly been sober. If he didn't come home at the right times he had to find some where else to stay. Usually Francis or Gilbert or one of those let him, but once or twice he'd found himself on the street or in someone's bed without much recollection of what exactly had gone on.

Francis, on the other hand, was thinking about how he could get Arthur to stay. He knew Arthur wasn't happy at home. They'd known eachother forever, and a long time ago they were neighbours. It felt like a lifetime has passed since Francis's family had moved, and they assumed they'd never see each other again. He'd been happy then, Francis supposed, but most five year olds were. When, years later, Arthur reemerged in his life, he had done so with a broken family and a terrible attitude. Still, they'd caught up. Their friendly rivalry hadn't changed, and Arthur had settled in well with Francis's friends, even if he was somehow even grumpier and more prone to tantrums and outbursts as a teenager than he'd ever been as a toddler. But Arthur started going out more, getting into fights with people that weren't Francis (and he and Arthur were brothers, practically, they were supposed to fight) and it was getting worse and worse. Francis saw it. At least at first it had been a double life. He'd watch movies with Francis and his other friends, they'd play soccer in the park and even ride bikes, and then Arthur would go out and release anger. And now he was angry all the time, and Francis who could always

calm him down, even when they were the ones doing the fighting, couldn't do anything. He had to get Arthur to stay with him. All he had to do was get his mother to agree with it. Arthur's mother wouldn't care or do anything about it.

"Arthur?"

"What, Francis?" Arthur said, snappily.

"You know you can talk to me?"

"Yes." Arthur said, staring blankly at the television.

"Good." Francis said. He decided to go for a different topic. "How was detention?"

"Joyous."

"When was the last time you didn't have detention?"

"I don't know. A few months ago. It's usually a good place to nap."

"Usually?" Francis said.

"Bloody Alfred Jones."

"Ah." Francis said. "The boy that came to reprimand you at lunch?"

"Yes, him."

"He's handsome, no?"

"I suppose he is." Arthur said. "He distracts me when I could be sleeping." Arthur yawned as he spoke.

"A complete virgin." Francis said.

Arthur sat up straighter. "How do you know that?"

"I can always tell, mon cher, I can always tell."

* * *

**A/N: thank you so much reading/reviewing, favouriting or following, I appreciate it so much.**


	4. Chapter 4

The A-Z Club Chapter Four

"How old is he?" Arthur said, looking across at Jones, who was eating a cheeseburger and talking to his legion of jocks.

"Who?"

"Jones."

"Sixteen." Francis said. "You know his brother."

"Do I?"

"Matthew." Francis said. "They have different surnames. It's complicated actually. Their parents got divorced, moved away, and then got back together. You go to his Biology and Math classes to catch-up. You sit next to him."

"Do I?" Arthur said, frowning. "I forgot. How do you know -"

"They're twins." Francis continued, ignoring Arthur. "I don't know how you don't know."

Arthur shrugged. He'd decided to stay the night at Francis's place. Mostly because he couldn't find his cigarettes, and Francis wouldn't give them to him until the next morning. Francis stretched, looking more like a cat than a frog.

"I want to fuck him." Arthur said. Francis laughed.

"Dream on Kirkland. He's out of your league." Francis said.

"What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" Arthur said.

"He is your opposite. He's popular. He's intelligent. Handsome. And in the closet."

"So you agree he's gay?" Arthur said, ignoring the rest of what Francis said. Well, it wasn't like he disagreed with any of it.

"Of course he is." Francis said. "I know these things."

"You're right." Arthur says. "But that doesn't mean I can't get him."

"Want to bet?" Francis said.

"That I can get him to sleep with me?"

"Oui."

"Okay. On what terms?"

"If he doesn't want to, you have to stay with me instead of at home."

"No." Arthur said.

"No bet."

"What if you lose?" Arthur said.

"What do you want?"

"You to stop bothering me about - about home."

"Is that it?"

"I could think of something else." Arthur said. Francis didn't like the dark smile he had on his face.

"It would be more interesting, Arthur, if you were to date properly."

"What do you mean?"

"Officially date him. he comes out of the closet." Francis said. Arthur hesitated, and the nodded. It was Francis's turn to smile in a way Arthur didn't like. He was about to say something, but Gilbert interrupted his thought process with a long tale about how he awesomely trained a wild bird. Arthur had met that bird - it was a canary he'd got from a pet shop.

Alfred was still angry. He couldn't believe how angry he was.

"It's not really Arthur's fault. Mr Phillips was being unreasonable." Matthew said, sitting down next to his brother. Alfred took a fry from Matthew's plate. Matthew had given up trying to stop him a long, long time ago.

"You weren't there to listen to the pity party the...the bastard was throwing himself. I almost felt sorry for him!" Alfred says. "I can't stand him! He's. so... attention seeking and stupid and has big eyebrows."

Matthew sighed, and Alfred didn't feel as though it was appropriate for his twin to sound so parentally disappointed in him.

"You have hockey after school, right?" Alfred said, deciding not to ignore thoughts of Kirkland.

"Yes, Alfred. Every Friday evening for four years now." Matthew says.

"Well, meet me after detention. We can go to McDonalds."

"Umm." Matthew cleared his throat. "I have plans."

"Without me?"

"Yeah. Just going out with a friend."

"You have other friends?"

"Well." Matthew says. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Who?"

Matthew's mouth opened and the closed again. He mumbled something.

"What?!" Alfred says. "Please tell me I am going crazy and you didn't just say you were going on a date with Braginsky."

"It's not a date! We're friends! We play hockey together."

"He's horrible to me." Alfred says.

"Don't pretend to be innocent, Alfred. You're my brother and I know you're not. I gotta go. Have a nice detention."

Alfred stared after his brother. It was rare when they argued - very rare. But Braginsky was where he had to draw the line. That Russian kid was a freak - Alfred's eyes had drifted away from his brother's retreating figure, and hit Arthur Kirkland, who was staring intently at him. Alfred couldn't look away. Their eyes locked - and Alfred was forced to stare him down. Like a cat or dog or spider, he had to out stare it. For like respect or something. Alfred wasn't sure. He was winning to, but Kirkland was a cheater. He draw his hand to his lips, and puckered them (it was just this moment Alfred observed how pretty Kirkland's lips were) and blew him a kiss and then winked. Winked!

Alfred didn't blush. He just wasn't feeling well and some blood rushed to his face to make him better. He had too look away, grab his bag, and leave.

Alfred and Phillips waited in the library together. Alfred had opened his mouth and Phillips had held a finger in the air, and now that sat in silence.

Kirkland came in five minutes late, and made a move to sit in his regular place.

"No. Kirkland, you're in with me. I can't trust you." Phillips said.

"Why does he get to sit alone - that's not fair. It's blatant favouritism." Arthur says, pointing at Alfred.

"Because he knows how to use his time productively and doesn't f- doesn't ... He's not a trouble maker." Phillips said.

"That's hurtful, Captain." Kirkland said, he was looking at the floor and shaking his head solemnly, but Alfred could see his smirk.

"Jones, write a thousand word essay on what you learned during your time in detention. Once you're finished, bring it to me, and if it's to my satisfaction you can go home." Phillips said, handing Alfred a couple of sheets of paper. "Come on, Kirkland." He pushed Arthur's back towards the door. Alfred watched Arthur's back stiffen, and saw the Brit clench his teeth together, but he didn't say anything.

Alfred made a couple of bad first attempts "In detention, I learnt Kirkland is a dick" may have gone down badly. But as soon as he started, he was on fire. Alfred supposed it was weird to like writing essays. They wouldn't come in useful any other time in his life. He sped through it, Alfred knows all about pandering to his audience. He put in lots about how sorry he is, and how he learnt he is responsible for his actions and needs to accept that. He finishes in just thirty-five minutes. He walks out of the library, with a bit of a bounce in his step.

"You know you're hanging from a thread Kirkland." He heard Philips say as he neared his office. "You know every member of staff in the school with happy to see the back of you. Elated, even. Heck, I bet the students would be ecstatic, too."

"Nice use of synonyms sir." Arthur mutters.

"Cut the sass, Kirkland. I don't know who you think you are. Do you care about anything, huh? You get kicked out of here, you're nothing. In five, ten years time when people mention Arthur Kirkland, half the people won't remember you and the other half won't care."

Arthur was silent. Alfred knocked the door loudly. Alfred stood in the door frame, watching Kirkland rather than watching Phillips read his essay. Arthur had his eyes closed, and was counting under his breath. Backwards from one hundred, but the looks of it and occasional near silent mutter.

"Alright, Jones, congratulations. You can home. Don't let me see you here again."

"Can I go to the bathroom?" Arthur said, watching Alfred leaving.

"No." said Phillips.

"It's just a piss, I promise." Arthur smiled.

Phillips's forehead vein pumped. Even Arthur's bladder annoyed him.

"Go. Be quick."

Arthur was thankful he only had the coat he was wearing. He didn't take books with him to school often, and his backpack was with Francis.

He ran after Jones down the hall (how had he got there so fast?).

"Oi, Jones!"

"Go away Kirkland." Alfred said, turning to look at him. He ran down the hall, catching up to him quickly.

"I want to talk to you." Arthur said.

"I don't want to talk to you." Alfred said.

Arthur followed him outside anyway.

"I wanted to apologise."

"For what."

"Getting you another detention. I didn't mean to, okay?" Arthur said. "I get angry and I don't think."

"OK." Alfred said. "See you around."

Arthur grabbed his arm.

"What?" Alfred said.

"Do you want to do something?"

"Together?"

Arthur suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something sarcastic.

"Yes." Arthur said. He thought fast. "I wanted to ask you a favour actually."

Alfred stopped walking and laughed.

"I don't need to do you a favour. You owe me, remember?"

"Well, now I'll owe you double." Arthur said. "Aren't you supposed to be a nice guy?"

"I am super nice." Alfred nodded. "What is it?"

"I missed a few lessons, so I've got to go to some catch up ones with different grades and stuff. If the teachers decide I've done well enough, I can go to regular classes after the holidays."

"And?"

"And you're a straight-a student. You can help me. Maybe."

"It's October." Alfred said. "Even I'm not that smart."

"Please, Alfred. I know I've been terrible, but I need this." Arthur said. "Or maybe Phillips is right, and I am a no-good waster."

Alfred faltered, frowning. Arthur looked sad. This would look good on him - not just helping other students, but if someone like Arthur Kirkland started doing well - well, they'd give him a medal.

"Fine. Sure." Alfred said. "We can go to McDonalds and talk about what you need to work on."

"Wonderful." Arthur said. They started to walk together, and Alfred started talking at him. Arthur hid his face in his coat to hide his smirk. This was going to be easy.

Alfred could talk. And eat. He was on his second meal, third cola, and hadn't shut the fuck up. Arthur almost left three times already. But when he shut up and looked down at his little list - yes, he'd started making a list - he was adorable. Well, Arthur thought he'd be preferred to be called handsome. He was - but he put his tongue between his lips when he concentrated.

"Dude are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"I'm sure."

"If you don't have any cash I could -"

"No. Thank you." Arthur said, struggling to stay calm. Francis had practically forced breakfast and lunch down his throat and he was feeling sick at the prospect of eating again. He hadn't had three meals a day since he was ten. It really wasn't necessary.

"Ok. So math, you're doing good with that but you should maybe actually go to class and that help you improve. But English and history and stuff you're doing pretty bad at, and biology isn't great I -"

"Yes, I know. Rather than tell me how bad I am, tell me how to improve." Arthur said, impatiently.

"I don't think we can do all that in one evening. We could make a schedule though. Hold on..." Alfred dug in his backpack and pulled out some highlighters. "I've got a lot of practice, but I'm always free between five and seven."

"Sounds fine."

"Like, any day?"

"Yes." Arthur said. He ran his hands through his hair. Juvenile delinquency club doesn't start until ten."

"Isn't that late - oh, you were joking. Haha." Alfred said, drawing a chart. "K, we can meet after practice, and go back my house or your house

"Your house. Or here. Or at the library." Arthur said. "I don't care, but you're not coming to my house."

Alfred nodded and started filing in his chart, highlighting different subjects in different shades of neon.

"I like your jacket." Arthur said, eventually.

"Oh, this? My grandad flew planes in WW2, and this was his. It is pretty cool, right?"

"Yes Alfred, it's nice."

Alfred smiled proudly. "Yours is cool. It looks old, too. Not like, bad old, but vintage." He laughed nervously.

"It is old. My dad got it from a thrift store, years ago. Before my parents separated. I stole it before I moved here." Arthur says.

"It suits you. The green it makes your eyes look even greener." Alfred said. "I like green."

Arthur laughed. Alfred was surprised that it actually sounded genuine.

"So, does this schedule look good to you?" He said, handing it to Arthur. Arthur nodded.

Alfred packed up his stuff and they left.

"You know Ivan Braginsky?" Alfred said.

"I know of him." Arthur said.

"My brothers out with him. Like, right now."

"And?" Arthur said.

"He's bad news."

Arthur snorted. "So am I."

"I don't like him."

"You don't like me." Arthur said, sending a sideways glance towards Alfred.

"I do like you." Alfred said quietly, "You need my help."

"Maybe your brother is helping Braginsky."

"Yeah. You're right."

Arthur lit a cigarette and started smoking.

"So, you heading home?"

"No. Francis has my backpack. I'm going there and then home." Arthur said.

Alfred smiled at him, goofily.

"You're nice when you're not in detention." He says.

"Phillips gets to me." Arthur said. "I hate him."

They went their separate ways at the end of the road. Arthur was going to gloat to Francis about how his plan was already in motion, and how Francis was definitely going to lose.


	5. Chapter 5

**The A-Z Club Chapter Five**

**Warnings: swearing, suggestion of casual sex, some other stuff, probably.**

* * *

Monday morning, and Arthur had surprised himself by being on time for school without having Francis to drag him out of bed. He wasn't entirely sure whose bed he was in, actually, but he was acutely aware of the figure sleeping next to him. His head hurt, and it was far too early to effectively function. He climbed out of bed and started to pull his clothes on, thankful that Francis's mother had washed them on Friday night. The machine in his own home had been broken for nearly a year. All his clothes looked the same, anyway. A darkly coloured t-shirt over a long sleeved one, usually they had some kind of a band stamped over them. Jeans, always jeans. If it was cold he'd wear a plaid shirt and his coat, if it was warm he'd go without. It was simple and effective wardrobe, paired with his trusty biker boots, he was prepared for anything. The jeans he wore today were loose, so he stole a belt from the wardrobe of the sleeping man. Unfortunately, the only belt he had was bright pink, which wasn't Arthur's favourite colour to wear to school. The only other option was to wear the tight pair Francis had got him for his birthday. But those jeans left nothing to the imagination and were sparkly and encrusted with rhinestones because as sophisticated as Francis claimed to be, he was actually incredibly tacky. They used to dress up in feather boas and their mothers's lipstick, after all. Arthur hoped the pink belt would look laid-back and I-don't-give-a-fuck.

It took a lot of fucks to not give a fuck.

88

"Kirkland!" Phillips yelled, almost as soon as he walked through the main entrance. Arthur smiled.

"How can I help you, sir?" Arthur said, as cheerfully as he could muster on a cold Monday morning without any tea in his system.

"My office, now." Phillips said. Arthur followed him, wondering at first what he possibly could have done already. Oh yes - he'd forgotten about finishing his detention.

Arthur turned into Phillips's office. He was shocked to see the actual Principal stood in the corner, hands behind his back. Phillips he could handle, he could enrage, because Phillips was all bark and utterly ineffectual. Principal Harris, on the other hand, was not.

"You're in for it now." Phillips hissed in his ear, shutting the door behind them.

"Sit down, Mr. Kirkland." the Principal said. Arthur sat.

"I expect you know why you're here, Mr Kirkland."

"Yes, Principal Harris."

"And why do you think that is?"

"I left detention early."

"And?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Arthur says.

"Your attitude and behaviour are unacceptable, Mr Kirkland. You don't take anything seriously. We've given you chance after chance. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Arthur stared into Harris's cold grey eyes.

"No retort, Kirkland?" Phillips said.

"I thought it was a rhetorical question."

"You can't speak to me like that." Harris said. "Who do you think you are?"

"With all due respect, sir, I was talking to Mr Phillips 'like that'."

Phillips was turning purple.

Harris sighed. "I'm beginning to regret my decision, Kirkland. But since I've already made it, I'll keep to it. We - well, I, have decided to give you one last chance. A toe out of line, no, a hair, one more failed grade, one more detention, a cut class, an angry teacher - you are gone from this school, Do you understand?"

"Perfectly." Arthur said. Phillips looked annoyed by this ultimatum. Arthur would have to make sure his final show was a good one. But it had to wait until after Christmas, at least. Until then, he had to be on his best behaviour.

88

Arthur didn't like Alfred's house. It was nice enough but it was too big, too clean, and too white. Well, it was really more of an ivory colour than pure white...He did not feel as though he should be walking around in such a place. Even Francis's house had a distinctive home-like feel to it, something more lived in, less show-room.

"Want a drink of anything?" Alfred said, leading them to the kitchen. "We've got coke, water, coffee, orange juice, milk..."

"Can I just have water, please." Arthur said, interrupting Alfred before he could list the entire contents of his refrigerator.

"Sure." Alfred said, taking out a coke for himself and handing Arthur a bottle of mineral water.

"Your house is nice." Arthur said, for lack of anything better to say as they walked up the stairs. Alfred made a disgusted sound.

"It's ridiculous. Mom occasionally has these fits of like, uncontrollable boredom and she redecorates as much of the house she can get her hands on. Except my room." Alfred said.

Alfred's room was neater than Arthur thought it would be. Neater than any teenage boy's room should be. The walls were a deep blue, like the curtains and the bedspread was striped deep blue and light blue. It was a large room with a lot of books and a big desk, a television and game system facing a small couch, like a mini living room.

"I like it." Arthur said, looking at Alfred just in time to see Alfred shove something quickly into a closet.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Was it porn?"

"No, Arthur. Ew." Alfred said, he was blushing. Arthur grinned.

"It was porn, wasn't it? Don't worry. You don't have to lie to me." Arthur said, laughing as Alfred backed up against the closet door so he couldn't get past.

"It's not porn. It's private." Alfred said. "I forgot to put it away."

"Is it -" Arthur began, but Alfred looked a bit put out. He decided not to tease the kid any further. "Don't worry, if it's private. I shouldn't pry."

"You can't tell anyone." Alfred said. "Only Mattie knows."

"I won't breathe a word."

Alfred opened the closet.

"It's a blanket. That I sleep with, sometimes. And a stuffed alien."

The blanket was a fleecy, colourful one with Captain America on it, and the alien was weird looking and grey.

"Why did you hide it?"

"It's childish. Dad thinks so, anyway. I bet no-one else has this sort of thing."

"Alfred, I bet half the kids at school have some sort comfort thing." Arthur said.

"Do you?"

"No." Arthur lied. "But I know people who do, for a fact."

Alfred put his blanket and alien back in the closet and looked down at his feet. Arthur almost felt bad for lying.

"Is that a telescope? Do you use it to spy on your neighbours?" Arthur said, noticing it and attempting to steer the conversation away from the blanket.

"No! I just like space." Alfred said. "All if it, moons and planets and black holes, and stars, I used to have glow in the dark star stickers, all on my ceiling. But I threw them out when I stated high school. I wish I hadn't."

"Space." Arthur said. Alfred nodded, without a question.

"I'm nerdy jock." Alfred said. "I even want -"

He cut himself off, it was a stupid thing to tell Arthur. They were barely even friends, and he hasn't told anyone.

"Want what?"

"Don't laugh." Alfred said, sighing. Arthur hadn't made fun of him about the blanket.

"Okay."

"Promise."

"I won't laugh at you, Alfred. I promise."

"I wanna be an astronaut. I know it's stupid, like something a kindergartener would say but I've always wanted it. My dad wants me to get a sports scholarship and then play professionally, and that would be cool and all but I don't know many NFL players that astronauts on the side, you know?" Alfred said. He looked up at Arthur.

"It isn't stupid." Arthur said. "It's good to have goals."

Alfred smiled at him. "You're not as scary as I thought you were."

You don't know the half of it, Arthur thought.

"Shouldn't we get started?" He said instead.

"Alright-y. What exactly about history do you hate? Is it the revolutionary war, because I can totally see why, I mean we kicked your ass and..."

"We're studying the Civil War." Arthur said.

"Ok, so the civil war was a war, and it's not what I thought it was, like I thought it was a war that was fought really civilly, all polite and stuff. But it's not that, it's actually..."

"Alfred, I know what a civil war is. I'm just not good at studying." Arthur said.

* * *

**a/n: thank you to those who followed and read the last chapter :)**

**Please review and save a stuffed alien's life. From the wild. **


	6. Chapter 6

**The A-Z Club Chapter Six**

Alfred blinked slowly, staring with his mouth slightly ajar.

"Excuse me?" He said, when he could finally talk again.

"Are. You. A. Virgin?" Arthur said, tapping his pen with every word.

"That doesn't have much to do with the Grapes of Wrath." Alfred said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Are we only allowed to talk about school?" Arthur said, doodling on the front cover of his notebook.

"No, I just think it's personal." Alfred said. He picked up his copy of the book and tried to read but he couldn't concentrate.

"You are, aren't you?" Arthur said, prodding Alfred with his pen.

"I know you're not." Alfred mumbled, looking down at the book.

"What?" Arthur said.

"I said I know you're not a virgin. Everyone knows." Alfred said. "I mean, a lot of people think it's an urban legend."

"Think what's an urban legend?" Arthur said, putting his pen down.

"The thing. Where you got caught having sex with that goth kid in the bathrooms." Alfred said. "And the teachers pretend it never happened."

"With Brian? I wasn't caught." Arthur says. "Because it didn't happen. We were just kissing."

"That's not what people say."

"You shouldn't listen to what people say about me. Half of it's lies and half of it's exaggerated by little juniors with no bloody lives of their own." Arthur said, he opened his backpack and starts putting his books away.

"Where are you going?" Alfred said.

"Out. I had plans." Arthur said.

"You've only been here half hour." Alfred said, getting to the door and standing in front of it before Arthur could get there. "We barely started."

"Yes, well, now we can finish." Arthur said.

"I am just a silly junior with no life?"

"No, Alfred, you're a sophomore. Duh." Arthur said.

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I know." Arthur said. "I wasn't talking about you."

"Who are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter. Move, Jones." Arthur said.

"Where are you going?" Alfred said.

"Just to see a band play."

"Can I come?"

"You're underage."

"So are you."

"You act underage." Arthur said. Alfred cocked his head to the side. Arthur wanted to kiss him - and he nearly did. His lips were pouting, in a joking, begging kind of way. He didn't realise how sexy he looked - he was thought he was being cute.

"Okay. But you have to change your t-shirt." Arthur said, stepping back from the door and slumping against the wall. Alfred walked over to the closet.

"Want me to dress like you, Arthur? I don't think I have any torn Sex Pistols shirts."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred took his shirt off and threw it to the floor. "I don't see what's wrong with Superman." He grumbled.

"Just wear something darker." Arthur said.

"Batman t-shirt?"

"No." Arthur said. He was trying not to stare at Alfred - but that wasn't the easiest thing in the world. He was standing with his hands on his hips and making a big deal out of choosing a t-shirt.

"Is this a dark enough shade for you?" Alfred said, holding a black t-shirt against his tan, toned body. Arthur nodded, biting his lip. If Jones wasn't so damn innocent, Arthur would be sure that he was doing this on purpose. And he had half a mind to pounce on Jones and take him there and then.

Arthur took his coat off and dug through his backpack.

"What are you doing?" Alfred said, wearing his t-shirt now.

"Will you turn around?"

"Uh...why?"

"I'm going to change my t-shirt." He said.

"You're a nudity prude? Of all people?" Alfred snorted, but turned around.

He did sneak a look. He couldn't help it. He peaked, but caught only a flash of white back before it was drowned in a baggy black tank top, with arm holes that hung down and showed off Arthur's ribs. Arthur quickly pulled a leather jacket on over and began to stuff is warmer coat in his backpack.

"Okay. You can turn around."

"How much do you carry in your backpack?"

Alfred said.

"A couple of days worth." Arthur said. "I don't spend many nights at home. Like you said, I'm obviously not a virgin."

Alfred looked him over. He hadn't thought it would offend him. Or that he would be a prude about being seen shirtless. But he hadn't thought Arthur would ask him for help with school or invite him along to watch a band, either.

"Stop staring at me, Jones." He said. "A picture would last much longer."

"That phrase is old and you said it wrong." Alfred said, avoiding making contact with black-lined green eyes.

"Well come on, if you're still coming."

"Totally still coming." Alfred said. He followed Arthur downstairs. Alfred wasn't expecting to run into his father, who was coming into the front door just as they were going to leave. His father wasn't supposed to finish work until half past seven, after Arthur left.

"Hi, Dad." Alfred said, noticing how Arthur shrunk back behind him slightly. His dad raised his eyebrows.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out." Alfred said. "I was gonna text you."

"Where are you going out, Al?" His father sighed.

"With Arthur. To his house. We're study buddies." Alfred said, smiling.

"You're Arthur?" Alfred's father gestured towards Arthur.

"Yes, I'm Arthur." Arthur said, drawing himself straighter and stepping forwards.

"Arthur who?"

"Arthur Kirkland." Arthur said.

"I'm Joseph Jones." He held his hand out. "I am very surprised Alfred hasn't introduced us."

Arthur shook his hand.

"Can I go, Dad?" Alfred said.

"Where do you live?"

"Near the train station." Arthur said.

"Dad -"

"Is that a Who patch on your backpack?"

"Dad -" Alfred interrupted, "Please?"

"Yes. I love the Who." Arthur said, noticeably relaxing. Alfred wanted to leave desperately. He was sure his father was two questions away from embarrassing him completely.

"I remember, way back in the day, I could listen to them all day. What's your favourite album, Arthur?"

"Quadrophenia definitely." Arthur said.

"I have the record on vinyl, actually, still works perfectly."

"Dad, please." Alfred said. "Can I go with Arthur to his house. He's going to introduce me some of the dinosaur music,"

"Yes, Alfred, you can go. Make sure you're back by ten." Joseph Jones said. "And Arthur? Make sure you come again, I'll show you that record."

"I'll look forward to it." Arthur said. Alfred waited for his father to disappear into his study before he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him out of the house.

Arthur pushed him off, roughly.

"Don't touch me." He said, but then he started laughing.

"What?" Alfred said. He liked Arthur's laugh, even if it was strange and barking and didn't suit him much at all. "Stop laughing at me."

"Why are you so embarrassed?" Arthur said, only just comprehendible through his laughs.

"I'm not." Alfred said, still red and agitated. He really didn't like Arthur laughing at him. Or talking to his dad. Or his dad liking Arthur.

He wasn't embarrassed. He felt jealous. Which was ridiculous. Arthur stopped laughing and stared at him.

"Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" He said. His voice changed from playful to serious in two seconds flat. Alfred was surprised Arthur didn't have whiplash.

"No." Alfred said. "I just...I thought my dad wouldn't like you but he does."

"He doesn't. He likes the Who."

"No. He never talks to my friends like that. He just says hello and then goes to his study. My mom usually does the screening process." Alfred said. "Anyway. Where are we going?"

"The Hole." Arthur said.

"That's like...there's drugs there and cops every other night."

"There's also music." Arthur said. "I'll make sure you don't get corrupted. Unless you want to."

Alfred shrugged and lagged behind. He couldn't help but watch Arthur walk. Those jeans were really tight. He couldn't be blamed.

"Do ya really live near the train station?"

He was trying to make conversation, but it Arthur just shrugged and carried on ahead. Alfred decided to concentrate on Arthur's pink belt, which was an odd choice. Alfred thought Arthur hated color.

"So what kind of band is this? Is it the dinosaur stuff you and my dad bonded over?"

"No. It's more punk than that. They're kind of punk-jazz. The Hole used to be a jazz club, years and years ago."

"Really?" Alfred said. "I prefer country. Anyone who hates it hasn't listened to the real stuff. I like pop music, too. Everyone likes pop music. Apart from you and my dad."

"Do you ever stop talking, Alfred?"

"Nope. What time does this thing start?"

"Headliner usually starts at nine"

"Oh. We're early."

"I know the singer. I said I'd meet him before for something." Arthur said. He stopped suddenly outside a door that Alfred hadn't ever noticed and knocked three loud times. The door opened, and a burly man in a dark suit stood in their way.

"Who's this?"

"He's with me. Don't worry." Arthur said. The guy sighed, but he stepped aside.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones -"

"That's nice, move along kid."

The club was up a flight of stairs, and looked dingy and dark and dirty.

"Do you want a drink?" Arthur said.

"Like, alcohol?"

"Yes. Like alcohol." Arthur said. "'Cause this is the only time I'm ever gonna offer to get you anything."

"Ok. Sure. I'll have whatever you're having."

Arthur nodded and left Alfred stood in the middle of an empty club. The only part that wasn't empty was the bar, which was staffed by a lone bearded man who was chatting to Arthur. Alfred didn't like feeling out of his element. He was really good at parties. But ones at people's houses, where he was already popular. Arthur bought over a beer and pressed into Alfred's hands. He was drinking what looked like whisky.

"I thought I said what you're having."

"I think it's early for you to be drinking whisky, Alfred."

Three men came onto stage, carrying instruments and cases.

Arthur put his drink on the table.

"You can come help."

Alfred followed him, but he was ingnored. Not by the newcomers. Five of the six where civil, at least. The only person Alfred wanted to talk to was stood in the corner with a tall, dark guy who hadn't even looked at Alfred. Alfred watched them disappear into a different room.

"You come with Arthur?" Miles, who was the bassist for the band asked. He had green hair and more piercings than Alfred knew you could get on your face without becoming a human magnet. On a regular day, Alfred knew he'd avoid this guy like the plague.

"Yeah." Alfred said. "We're friends."

One of the other guys, who'd introduced himself as Blue (probably on count of his blue hair and eyes, but Alfred couldn't be sure) snorted.

"Arthur doesn't have friends. He has fucks. And that French guy." Blue said.

"Yeah well, he has me now. Besides, he has lots of friends." Alfred said.

"Where are they now?" Miles said. "He comes here alone, and either leaves with Cain or the French one shows up and drags him home. Sometimes he's with an albino. That's it."

"They're his friends." Alfred said, quietly. He's seen Arthur with lots of people at school. He couldn't be having sex with all of them. That was ridiculous. Arthur came back looking more alert and happier.

"Can I talk to you, Arthur?"

"You can." He said, walking past Alfred and towards his drink.

"Do you have friends?"

Arthur laughed. "Do you?"

He drained the whisky in one sip and sat down.

"Yeah, I do." Alfred said.

"Then so do I."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You started it, Alfred. Relax." Arthur said. "I have friends. You have friends."

Alfred couldn't relax. When people started to file into the club he didn't relax because they weren't his people. Some of them knew Arthur and would speak to him, and then they'd disappear for two minutes and come back and go their separate ways.

And then the band started - Alfred didn't like them, much. Cain couldn't sing all that well and whatever talent the guitarists and saxist had were wasted. Alfred didn't want to have another beer, because he wasn't sure he liked the taste, but Arthur gave him another one and said something, but it was too noisy and Alfred couldn't hear. And then they were separated by a crowd of leather-clad sweaty people, so Alfred swam his way to the bar, clutching the beer like it was a life raft.

He stood relatively comfortably until a strange man, who was probably ten years older than him, planted himself firmly behind Alfred. Too close. Alfred stepped forward.

Arthur had lost Alfred. His head was feeling dizzy and Cain's voice was giving him a headache. He looked around the the cramped and crowed club, eventually seeing Alfred hanging out at the bar and talking to trouble.

"Shit." He wasn't sure if he said it out loud or not.

He pushed his way through the crowd.

"Oh hey, we were just talking about you." Alfred said, brightly.

"I knew I'd find you here." The man smiled.

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"Alfred has to go home." Arthur said, gripping his arm. "Come on."

"Hurry back." The man said.

"Arthur - "

"What?"

Alfred was relieved when they got outside, and the band faded to a faint thumping.

"Who was that?"

Arthur didn't answer. He threw a glance behind him and then he pulled Alfred closer, and he kissed him. Alfred kissed back, his limp hands rested kind-of awkwardly on Arthur's hips, and Arthur ran his through Alfred's soft hair. He tasted like beer, Chapstick, and the kind of toothpaste with a cartoon character on it, usually reserved for children.

"Arthur, I -"

"Sh. It's quarter to ten. You have to get home."

"I'm gay."

"You still have a curfew." Arthur said. "We can talk at school."

"Ok." Alfred said.

"And try not breathe near your parents."

"What? Oh." Alfred said. "Beer. Haha. I have gum."

He was switching from foot to foot. Arthur kissed him on the cheek one last time.

"Bye." He said.

"Wait, who was that man?"

"Don't worry. Go home."

"Bye, Arthur!" Alfred said, before running off down the street. Arthur turned back and walked into the club to face his stepfather.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to those who favourited/followed/read/and reviewed and saved an alien from the wild last chapter. It makes me and the aliens happy and fuzzy. **


	7. Chapter 7

**The A-Z Club Chapter Seven**

His stepfather didn't say a word as he lead him to the car, just kept his hand firmly planted on his shoulder. Arthur bit his lip and tried to come up with a plan. Before he knew it, he was trapped in a moving car. He briefly entertained the idea of jumping from the moving car, but he didn't like the image he got in head of a forensic clean-up crew peeling his body from the asphalt. His mother was stood at the door, stony faced, her arms folded across a fading pink night gown.

"Oh, Arthur." She said. Her face cracked. She had her arms around his neck before he could pull away. "Come inside."

"What the hell is going on?" He said.

"We've missed you, terribly, Roger and I."

And they shut the door behind them. The house looked tidier than usual.

"You must stop running off."

Arthur was pulled in the living room by his mother and pushed by his stepfather. That's when the bomb exploded. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. A sharp slap across the cheek - his mother's hand.

"What have you been telling people?" She demands.

"What do you mean?" He said, realising that any niceties he'd been afforded were for show. In case the neighbours, quite close on either side, were listening or watching.

"Social Services have been here. Wanting to talk to you."

"I haven't said anything." Arthur said. "And anyway, I'm eighteen. They can't do anything -"

"Oh don't be so vain. It would be relief if they'd take you away. It's Peter, they're worried about. You've been sounding your mouth off and they think we'd hurt our son." Roger said.

"I haven't said anything to anyone." Arthur said.

"You better not have. They're coming tomorrow. At four pm. You'll come straight here after school and tell them that it is a safe environment for Peter and that there was a misunderstanding. Understand?"

"Yes." Arthur said. His mother nodded triumphantly. Arthur knew they wouldn't hurt Peter. They actually bloody liked him, for a start, but he hoped social services weren't as stupid as they are on television. Even if he wasn't really welcome, and even if they didn't care about him, they might notice something. Peter would be better elsewhere.

"You're lucky," His stepfather said, finger in his face, "We let you live here. Feed your ungrateful mouth, roof over your head, clothes on your back, all for nothing. And you're lucky those bastards are coming tomorrow otherwise..." He shook his head, face still too close to Arthur's. "And take a goddamn shower, you smell like that goddamn faggy club."

The shower always took minutes to warm up to a tolerable temperature, and it always felt like hours when you were stood shivering and waiting. And Arthur liked it extra hot. He stripped his clothes and threw them in a pile, and got in to enjoy the steaming water. It eased the stressed muscles in his back, it burnt his old scars and new scars, it washed away the dried blood and dirt. He stayed there for as long as he could stand looking down at his naked, scarred body. When he got out, the cold air hit him like a wall and his head spun. He was still shaking, as he had been since he'd left Alfred, as he dressed in baggy grey sweatpants and old greyish white t-shirt. Alfred. Alfred's lips. Alfred's soft hair, Alfred's smell. He crawled into his bed, wrapped his arms around a pillow, and pretended that he was holding Alfred close to him. With his eyes closed tight, he could almost fool himself.

He didn't get much peace, because five minutes into his fantasy (which was slowly getting more graphic) there was a soft knocking at his door. He supposed he should be grateful for the interruption - he really didn't want to have to shower again.

Peter was stood on the other side of the door.

"Hi, Jerk." He said, and wrapped his arms around Arthur.

"Hi, Peter. What do you want?"

"I'm hungry."

"Ask mum or your dad to get you something." Arthur said.

"They're playing noisy wrestling." Peter said. He pulled away from Arthur. "You make me something."

"It's late, Peter, and you have no manners."

"Please please please." Peter said. "Just a sandwich. Really quick."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but also realised he was quite hungry and couldn't remember when he'd last eaten.

"Come on then." Arthur said. He grimaced as he passed his mother's room. They couldn't be louder if they bloody tried.

The kitchen was tidier than Arthur had seen it in a while, too. He sat Peter on a counter top.

"Are you staying this time?" Peter said.

"Probably not, Peter. They don't want me here."

"I want you here." Peter said. "Even if you are a jerk."

Arthur shrugged and made the sandwich in silence.

"Here. Though you're old enough to make them on your own."

"Yeah, and better." Peter said. "But I'm sleepy. It's better to have you do it."

Arthur made himself tea, and took Peter back upstairs.

"Can I stay in your room tonight?" Peter said.

"No."

"Please."

"Only if you keep your mouth closed." Arthur said.

**88**

Alfred hadn't been this excited to get to school in forever. He had to talk to someone. Maybe Mattie would understand, but maybe Arthur wouldn't want anyone to know what happened. He got to school early, even though Arthur was rarely on time. His parents hadn't been as angry as he thought they'd be when he got home late. They'd just said he'd better get up on time for school, or there'd be trouble. Alfred knew it was an empty threat. There was never any trouble. They were always too distracted by themselves. He kept watch for at least thirty minutes, until he finally saw Arthur, who came two minutes before lessons began and was carrying an even bigger backpack than usual.

Alfred ran towards him, but stopped short, not wanting to embarrass himself when people were still around.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi." Arthur said, moving the backpack from one shoulder to the other.

"What's with the huge bag?" Alfred said.

"Nothing. Have you seen Francis?"

"What's wrong? Who was that man yesterday -"

"I just need to ask Francis something."Arthur said, staring into the distance.

"I haven't seen him." Alfred said. "We're gonna be late to class."

"I'm not going to class." Arthur said. He looked behind his back.

"Why not? I thought you said you were on your final warning?"

"I am. But I'm going to fuck up at some point. Sometimes it's better to quit whilst you're ahead." Arthur said. "Have you football after school?"

"Not today." Alfred said. "For once."

"Will you meet me? Not here, uh...the public library, okay? Tell Francis to meet me there, too. Go to class."

Alfred looked around, everyone had gone in, and Arthur had begun to walk away.

"Will you kiss me?"

Arthur smiled, his furrowed forehead relaxed, and he kissed Alfred gently on the mouth.

"Be good." He said.

Alfred waited until lunchtime to try and search for Francis, but he thought about it all day. Francis was sat in his usual place, with his back facing Alfred's usual table. Alfred walked straight past whoever it was who called out his name.

"Francis?"

The boy who Alfred knew to be Arthur's... friend? Turned around, one groomed eyebrow raised.

"Yes?"

"I'm Alfred." Alfred said. He was going to carry on, but Francis interrupted.

"I know who you are. You were...tutoring Arthur. I don't know where he is, if you're looking for him. Try detention."

"Uh, no. I know where he is. He was looking for you, actually. But he's dropped out now. He wants to meet us at library. After school." Alfred said.

Francis's expression changed from bored to worried.

"Did he look okay?"

"He was a bit pale." Alfred said. "And distant. He had a huge backpack with him."

88

Arthur wasn't easily bored of the library, but he was beginning to lose his patience. It was his own problem, after all. He'd barely slept that night. He was going back home. Not to talk to social workers. He'd never see his mother or stepfather again. Maybe in a few years he'd visit Peter. He was going to go to school, either. High School meant shit, and his grades were never going to improve. He'd just work a minimum wage job for a few years and die young. It would be fucking tragic and only Francis would attend his funeral. Maybe Alfred, as long as Francis never mentioned the bet. He was winning the bet, anyway. Alfred was infatuated with him and he felt nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He felt a distinct tingling in his crotch area whenever he thought about him without a shirt on. He'd had a nap in a warm corner, and Rose the elderly librarian woke up him around lunch time.

"Do you want a sandwich, sweetheart?" She'd asked. He was going to say no, but his stomach betrayed him by grumbling before he could speak. She took him into a secret librarian sanctuary. The library aide gave him a distasteful look, staring at his messy hair and earrings. She didn't know how toned-down this was. He'd had more piercings, at one point, but a tearing that had happened when his stepfather's fist made contact with his face prompted him to remove them. Rose said something quietly to the other woman, who scowled at Arthur as she left the secret room.

"What kind of sandwiches do you like?"

"Uh, anything." Arthur said. He didn't care. As long as it was food, his stomach said.

"Cheese?"

Arthur nodded, and the old librarian started to make tea.

"I don't like to ask many questions, dear, but you look even more tired than usual." She said. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Thank you." Arthur said. He bit into the sandwich. "My friends are meeting me when they've finished school."

"That's good." Rose said. She stirred the tea absentmindedly. "If you ever need someone to talk to..."

"I'll keep you in mind." Arthur said.

"Eat up. You're looking a bit thin." Rose said.

When her break was over, they returned to the main library, and Arthur went back to his seat. He heard the library aide mutter something about vagrants, and he almost protested, but then he realised the aide was probably bloody right. Rose brought over a book which she swore was her favourite, so Arthur read it. It wasn't about to top his favourite books list, but he actually enjoyed it. Plus he hadn't thought Rose to be so into erotic fiction. Well, it was more romance. But there were several rather long passages about Fabio's member.

He was actually beginning to enjoy himself, and then he realised school would be ending any time soon, and he'd have to grovel to Francis. He'd been refusing and refusing to stay with Francis for weeks - and now he'd have to ask. He wanted Alfred there, well, because he wanted Alfred. He might be practically homeless but it didn't mean he was about to give up.

* * *

**A/N: thank you so much for reading/reviewing/favouriting/following. Reviews make me feel fuzzier than a tarantula's legs.**


	8. Chapter 8

**The A-Z Club Chapter 8**

* * *

Arthur stood outside the library, shielding his face and lit cigarette from the cold and biting wind. It had been unseasonably warm most of the day, but it was freezing now. Arthur felt it was a foreboding sign. His stomach hurt, it felt like acid was wearing him inside out. He wanted to throw up. He saw Alfred and Francis in the distance, and he felt like a trapped animal. He decided it was a stupid idea, in the first place, to ask for help. Especially from Francis. And bringing Alfred into it was even worse. He was a terrible person. He was weak. He should have just dealt with it and stayed at home until he could leave. His mother was right - he really was a burden. He couldn't do this. He couldn't ask for a favour like this. Francis had suggested it first, but it was just an idea. It couldn't mean anything real. He couldn't ask for his parents to suffer his presence. He dropped his cigarette and ran into the library. He grabbed his backpack, and sent Rose a quick and strained smile. She opened her mouth to say something, but she just smiled back warmly. He slipped out through the side door, and he ran.

"Well, he was definitely here." Francis said, stopping short. Alfred stood next to him. They'd met outside the school in silence, and spent the

"How do you know?"

"Cigarette." Francis said, pointing to it on the floor.

"Well done, Poirot."

"Poirot was Belgian."

"Whatever. How do you know it was his?"

"I just do."

"Yeah, but how?"

"I saw him." Francis said. "He went inside. I just thought it would be more dramatic this way."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Can we just go see him?"

"Are you worried about him?"

"Yes." Alfred said. Francis nodded his head, and looked around the library. It was almost completely empty, and it was clear Arthur wasn't there.

"I hope this isn't a stupid game." Francis said.

"It isn't." Alfred said. "He seemed really off this morning."

"Arthur is a good actor." Francis said. "When we were children we would put on plays and make our parents watch. He was a very good Little Red Riding Hood."

"He wouldn't lead us around like this."

"I know him better than you do." Francis said. Alfred wanted to argue, but he knew he didn't have much of a counter-argument. He didn't know Arthur at all.

"I'm gonna ask the librarian if she's seen him." He said, and walked away from Francis. He chose the kindest looking one, an older lady, who smiled brightly at him.

"Can I help you with anything, dear?" She said.

"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for my friend. He's blond and skinny with a lot of earrings."

"Arthur?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. Is he here?"

"He was here. He left five minutes ago." she said.

"Oh. Did he say -"

"No. But he's here often." The librarian said.

"Thanks." Alfred said. He went to tell Francis who rolled his eyes.

"He'll probably have got bored and gone to the club." Francis said.

"Then let's go." Alfred said.

88

He almost screamed, when he turned on his light to see someone sleeping in his bed. Instead, he closed the door slowly and quietly and took a couple of steps forward.

It only took him a few seconds to realise it wasn't a narcoleptic burglar, but Arthur.

Arthur was asleep on his bed.

He'd walked around for two and a half hours, searching every place that Francis could think off, and there he was, in his bed.

He watched him for a few seconds. His boots were placed nearly by Alfred's bedside table, but his coat was on, and he was rumpled and twisted in Alfred's bedcovers. How long had he been here? How had he gotten in?

"I let him in."

Alfred whipped around. "How long have you been stood there?"

He hadn't heard the door open. Or close again.

"A few seconds." Matthew said. He turned the light on.

"Why are you always so quiet?" Alfred said. "And when did you let him in?"

"After school. I came home and he was asleep on the doorstep."

"Really?" Alfred said. "I've been looking for him all evening."

"He's been here." Matthew says."I told you he wasn't so bad. You two seem close."

"I tutor him."

"Okay, Alfred." Matthew said. He had a disbelieving look in his eyes.

"Mattie. You can't tell mom or dad, ok?"

"I'm not an idiot, Alfred." Matthew said. "He looks like he could do with something to eat."

"I could, too." Alfred said.

"I'll make us all something." Matthew said.

Alfred went back to watching Arthur sleep.

He sat on his knees by the bed.

"Please stop staring at me." Arthur said. "It's bloody creepy."

"Oh. I thought you were asleep."

"That doesn't make it any less creepy." Arthur said. "Sorry I slept in your bed."

"It's ok." Alfred said. Arthur sat up, still yawning. He was still tired. "Why did you leave the library?"

"I changed my mind." Arthur says. "I know Francis will kill me if I...well, I'll tell you later. But first...I...I actually just wanted to talk to you."

"Just me?"

Arthur nodded. "You can't tell Francis, though."

"Why not?"

"Just don't. This isn't any of his business."

"Ok." Alfred sat on the bed beside him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. I have a plan." Arthur said. "I want to go home."

"You hate -"

"Real home."

"How are you gonna do that?"

"I have a plan, and that's all you need to know for now." Arthur said.

"Ok. You'll keep in touch though right? You can email and call and even write. If you want to." Alfred said.

"I will." Arthur said. He took his coat off. "Your brother is really nice." He said.

"Yeah, I know. I mean he's gotta be awesome if he's my brother."

Arthur smiled. He kissed Alfred, a bit suddenly and slightly too hard, so Alfred jolted away.

"Sorry," Arthur said.

"No, I want you to kiss me again." Alfred said. Arthur obliged, daring to slide his hand up Alfred's t-shirt. He flinched when Alfred did the same, and moved away.

"How come you can touch me but I can't touch you?"

"My ribs are sore." Arthur said. "I just don't like being touched."

"Why are they sore?" Alfred said.

"My stepfather. The other week."

"Let me see."

"No." Arthur said. "You're worse than bloody Francis."

"We're both concerned about you."

"Why? There's no point in being concerned about me. I'm just..." Arthur stood up.

"I'm not gonna stop caring about you just because you have a weird inferiority complex. Now take off your shirt." Alfred says. For a second, Arthur looked angry, but then he laughed.

"Now you really sound like Francis." He said, he pulled at the t-shirt. "Don't overreact."

"I won't." Alfred said. Arthur pulled the t-shirt over his head. Alfred stared at the deep purple pink bruises on his ribs. "Arthur they could be broken."

"They're not." Arthur said. "I've broken them before. I know what it feels like. I'm just sore."

"I read that you can not even know you broke them and then the broken bone impales an organ and you bleed to death inside out. It's a thing that happens." Alfred says. Arthur smiled and put his t-shirt back on.

"It won't happen." Arthur said. Matthew came back in the room, carrying a tray.

"You should do this more often." Alfred said.

"I cooked for Arthur, not you." Matthew said.

"Oh thanks. Real nice." Alfred said, taking the tray from Matthew.

88

"Wait. Wait, stop. Arthur." Alfred said, pushing him away. He wasn't going to deny that Arthur's mouth on his neck and his hands on his dick felt nice, but it didn't feel right.

"What?" Arthur said, rolling into back.

"I want my first time to be special." Alfred said.

"With someone else?"

"No. Just more of a romantic setting, that's all." Alfred said. "Like a cabin in the woods, with a fireplace with logs I cut myself..."

"That's a bit gay." Arthur said.

"And this isn't?" Alfred said, kissing Arthur again. Arthur rolled his eyes, and rubbed his hands across Alfred's abs. "I understand, Alfred. I was fourteen and in the backseat of a car when I had my first time."

"Really?" Alfred said. "Can we just cuddle."

Arthur nodded, Alfred led on his chest, reaching his arm out to the off the lamp, and plunging them both into darkness. Arthur stroked his Alfred's hair, which tickled his chin.

"Alfred?" He said. "Why were you in detention that first time?"

"I don't want to tell you." Alfred said. "You didn't tell me."

"I was smoking in the bathroom." Arthur said. "It can't be that bad. What did you do?"

"When I was changing for gym...some of the guys were picking on this kid. And I wanted to stop them. But I just joined in. I was the only one who was caught, when Coach Benson walked in. I was given detention for bullying." Alfred said. "And I feel really bad about it."

"Oh." Arthur said.

"He hasn't been in school since it happened. I can't even apologise." Alfred said. Arthur kissed Alfred's forehead. "Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

"No. Not at all, Alfred." Arthur said. He wrapped his arms tighter around Alfred wriggled down to be at the same height, nose to nose. He closed his eyes. "I'm tired." He suppressed a yawn.

"Artie?"

Arthur opened one eye. "Artie? Really?"

"Yep. It's a nickname." Alfred said.

"Hm." He closed his eye again.

"Artie?"

"What?"

"I think I love you."

Arthur missed a beat. "I love you, too."

Alfred didn't open his eyes when he woke up, but stretched out his arm to wrap around Arthur. His arm fell through thin air. He sat up like a bolt, and grasped for his glasses. Arthur was pulling a t-shirt on, half tucking it into skin tight jeans, and then he pulled a hoodie over it. Alfred watched him in silence. He put his coat on.

"Where are you going?" Alfred said, finally.

"I don't know. Away." Arthur said, putting his boots on. He swung his bag over his shoulder.

"You can't just leave." Alfred said. "Not after last night."

"Then come with me."

* * *

**A/N: idk where I'm going with this. It got away from me. This fic has a life of it's ownnnnnnn.**

**Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favourited or reviewed so far!**


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